


You’re gonna be okay

by ChocolateAndRedbull



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Gen, Hurt Peter, Hurt Peter Parker, Mentions of Violence, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker is a Mess, Peter Parker is in shock, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Scared Peter, Scared Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, mentions of drug abuse, mentions of drug use, not graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:16:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24357172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocolateAndRedbull/pseuds/ChocolateAndRedbull
Summary: Prompt: In less than 1000 words, write about this: 'Have someone who will let you fall asleep in your car, drive the whole time, be okay with it, and avoid the pot holes so you sleep fine.'
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 14
Kudos: 129





	1. Chapter 1

Peter Parker sat in the back of the parked ambulance, wrapped in a blanket, staring into space. Unnoticed by him, two paramedics stood a little away from him.

“Shock," one of them muttered, stealing glances at the teenager sitting alone by the ambulance. "The poor kid, have we contacted anyone for him?"

"Yeah, he had some guy under the name 'Emergency Contact' so I just called him, explained what had happened and he said he'd be here as fast as he could." The first paramedic nodded, looking over at the kid who had yet to break his gaze from his small puddle of shock-induced vomit a few yards from his feet.

“Has he said anything yet?" the first paramedic asked. 

"Not a word," replied the second. "But after what he's been through I'm just surprised he's sitting upright."

The pair were interrupted as tyres screeched, a flashy sports car turned the corner and pulled up on the opposite side of the paramedics. A man in a sharp suit and sunglasses, despite the dark night, stepped out.

"Tony Stark," he said, gruffly. "I'm here for the kid."

The paramedics gestured towards the lit ambulance, and Tony began to run towards him.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," the paramedic called, "he's in shock. No telling what he'd do."

Tony stopped and looked at Peter who had yet to notice his arrival. Tony’s face somewhat softened, as he pulled off his jacket, shivering a little in the autumn air. He cautiously crept towards the teen.

"Pete? Kid, it's me, it's Tony," he called softly. Peter’s gaze broke from the small pool of vomit on the ground. He looked up at Tony with tears in his eyes, his right eye swollen shut.

”Mr S’ark?" he choked out, as tears started to fall. Tony wrapped his jacket around Peter’s shuddering shoulders and placed his arms around him as he pressed his face to his chest.

Tony stared at the chaos behind the parked ambulance, "Its' okay, kid, it's me, you're okay now, I promise. They can't hurt you anymore," he said softly, resting his chin on Peter’s head as he sobbed.

“C’mon, let's go home, let's get you to bed," Tony said, slowly peeling Peter from his chest, placing his hands on his shoulders and steering him towards the car. Tony nodded towards the paramedics who nodded back solemnly as Peter stumbled towards the car. Tony pulled open the door of the car and helped the kid crawl inside, noticing him flinch as he leaned back into the seat. Tony pulled the seatbelt around him gently and closed the door as quietly as he could, quickly running around and climbing in himself.

As Tony pulled out onto the road, Peter spoke quietly. "I-I don't want to... to go home... j-just yet, can... can we just drive around a bit first."

"Buddy, I really think we should get you home..." Tony said, pityingly.

"Please." Peter’s voice was tired, pleading.

"Sure," Tony said quietly, "whatever you want."

After a half hour of driving around the city, Tony chanced a look at the ever-silent kid. His face melted as he saw Peter’s head tilted to one side, asleep, his black eye really starting to show. Tony realised that he had just wanted some peace before going back to his apartment full of deafening silences, empty since his aunt had been put on the night shift.

Tony slowed down considerably as he drove through the back streets, making sure to miss each pot hole he came across so he wouldn't disturb the sleeping kid. Tony decided to take Peter back to the tower, let him stay with him for a while, until he was sure he can cope on his own. As he pulled into the parking lot, he made sure to park close to the elevator.

Tony climbed out as quietly as he could, and gently lifted Peter from the car. Peter whimpered slightly at being moved, before curling into Tony’s chest. Tony stood in the elevator, holding Peter close to him as they quickly went upwards. Tony cursed the loud 'ping' it made and thanked anyone who was listening that Peter didn't wake up. Tony slowly made his way towards the kid’s room and gently lay Peter down on the bed. Peter whimpered at the loss of contact before latching himself onto Tony’s leg. Tony made a quick decision and quickly removed his dress shirt, belt and shoes and lay down beside the boy. He smiled softly as Peter rested his head on his chest. Tony quickly grabbed his phone and sent a text to the rest of the team: stay away from the tower until monday 

Tony turned off his phone he wrapped his arms around Peter once more. "They can't hurt you anymore, kid. You're okay."  



	2. Chapter 2

Tony half-opened his eyes and quickly glanced at the clock, telling Friday to cool it with the alarms.

3:47am.

He ran a hand over his face as he rolled out of bed. Peter was out of bed. Again.

Tony sighed.

He climbed out of bed and pulled on his trousers and boots, running a hand through his hair as he made his way towards the kitchen, calmly made two cups of coffee and climbed into the elevator.

It had been a month since Tony had been called to pick up Peter and it had been a month and one day since Peter had slept through the night.

Tony shivered as the night air hit him and he smiled sadly as he spotted Peter on the other side of the roof, looking out onto the bright city, hunched over the railing.

Tony slowly strode over to him, handed him the cup of coffee and wordlessly stood beside him.

Long after the coffee had gone cold, Tony spoke quietly, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Tony knew that Peter had nightmares. He heard him screaming and gasping in his sleep every night.

Peter didn't reply, but then again, Tony hadn't expected him to. He never did. He never said much of anything anymore.

Bruce says it's some sort of PTSD. He says that Peter would be affected by what had happened until he could learn to cope, until he could realize that it's over and that life goes on. May had told him that he's only seen him like this twice before and that was when his parents, and then his Uncle Ben, had died. He had shrunk into himself and couldn't function for months afterwards.

Tony had noticed that Peter had been overly distracted over the last month. Especially when being told to do something. Tony had frequently asked his intern for a cup of coffee in the morning, and not received it until afternoon, with nothing but a rushed apology and a quick getaway.

Between what Tony had been told on the phone that night, Bruce’s medical reports, and rumors that May had heard but didn’t want to believe, they were able to piece together roughly what had happened, and Tony was almost sick to his stomach whenever he thought about it. No wonder Peter was the way he was.

"Why don't you take the day off tomorrow?" Tony said quietly. "Relax. I could bring you home for the day, I'd come back and get you in the evening, of course," Tony said, pleading for some bit of normalcy in the kid.

"No."

"But-"

"I said 'n-no,' Mr S-Stark. I-I don't want to go home. I'll stay here. I'll try harder, I s-swear," he said, sounding as he wanted to cry.

"Peter, it's not about you not trying hard. I just thought you might want a little break. You don't have to if you don't want to."

"S-sorry," he muttered quietly. 

"Don't be. You don't have to be sorry for anything, Peter, none of this is your fault," Tony said, watching Peter’s face twitch slightly as he watched the lights of the gas station across the street.

Bruce and May had also mentioned the stutter. Peter was finding it hard to talk about what had happened. He never liked to show weakness. Bruce had said that until he was willing to talk about what had happened, and what was happening because of it, he would have this stutter. May knew how to handle it because he'd had the stutter for over a year after his parents had died, and a few months after Ben.

Tony had often asked Peter a question and had to sit there for a good two minutes before he could get an answer, wincing as Peter grew more and more frustrated with himself. May said that the best way to handle this was to show him patience, act like nothing was different. He didn't say but Tony knew that Peter appreciated it.

"Ma-Maybe I will go home," Peter said after a while. "T-Tomorrow. Get- Get out of yo-your hair f-for a bit," he said, still not looking at Tony. Tony’s heart broke a little at the tone of his voice.

"Kid..." he trailed.

"Y-You should g-go back to b-bed. It's l-late. S-Sorry f-for keeping you aw-wake," he said quietly, turning around. "You t-take the elevator. I'm go-gonna take the s-stairs." He was gone before Tony had a chance to stop him.

——— 

"Tony?" Natasha said as she stood in the doorway of his lab. "Where's Peter today?"

"He went home for the day, I'm gonna go back and pick him up around six..." Tony said absentmindedly, riffling through a box of screws.

"Are you sure that's smart, Tony? I don't know if he should be alone right now," she said worriedly.

"He's fine, Romanoff, Peter is a big boy, he can handle himself," he said, not looking up from his box.

"Whatever you say..." she said, walking towards the living room.

Tony sighed as she left. He didn't want to admit it but he was worried about Peter too.

———

"Have you heard from Peter yet?" Clint asked over lunch, mouth full of pizza.

"No, I haven't, because he's able to spend a day by himself without us checking up on him," Tony said, irritably.

"Just asking a question, Tony, we're all worried about him, not just you," Clint muttered.

Tony sighed.

————

going to stay here tonight. will get train back in the morning. thanks. –peter 

Tony sighed when he got the text, trying to decide whether or not to call him, just to check in.

But Tony knew that Peter wanted to be alone. Knew that he could use a night to himself.

Despite how much Tony’s mind was screaming at him to go and pick him up.

————

2:55 am and Tony was awoken by the door sliding open.

He slowly got out of bed and pulled on his trousers before leaving his room and going to check who was there.

Tony just made it to the top of the stairs in time to see Peter stumble through the door, an almost empty bottle of vodka in his hand. Tony blinked when he saw him wearing ripped jeans, a white t-shirt with a vomit stain on the front and a plaid shirt covered in mud stains. Peter’s hair was a mess, as if he'd been running his hands through it. He also had a large gash on his cheek.

Tony watched him as he stumbled over to the banister and leaned over it, head down. He seemed to be nursing his right arm. Tony could have sworn he heard him groan. He then watched as he stood up and stumbled slowly towards to kitchen, downing the last of the bottle. 

Tony climbed down the stairs and followed Peter to the kitchen, watching him intently. As he stood in the doorway, he saw Peter leaning on the open door of the fridge, one hand over his eyes.

Tony cleared his throat. Peter tensed slightly, but didn't turn around, instead pulling a six-pack from the fridge and moving to the counter to pull one out.

"I think you've had enough," Tony said quietly.

"I know when I've had enough," he muttered, taking a swig and belching into his hand.

Tony moved towards Peter and pulled the six-pack away from him, placing it back in the fridge as he paled. "You alright, kid?" Tony asked tentatively.

Peter nodded his head, still not wanting to reveal his weaknesses. Tony nodded knowingly as Peter stared at him. He scratched his uninjured cheek before turning to the sink and puking up a mouthful of vomit, wincing visibly. Peter leaned over the sink and groaned. Tony placed a hand on his back, to which he flinched and shrugged it away.

"D-Don't," he breathed, "Jus’ leave me alone."

Tony sighed, knowing Peter wouldn't cooperate when he was like this.

"You can stay here," Tony said quietly as he turned to the door. "Or you can come upstairs. I'll be waiting."

————

It was an hour later when Peter made an attempt at climbing the stairs, which in turn took fifteen minutes. He flopped into Tony’s desk chair and began to spin slowly, eyes closed. 

"You wanna talk?" Tony asked from the doorway.

"Rather not," Peter muttered, not opening his eyes.

"How're you feeling?" Tony asked, leaning against his desk. 

"A bit shit," Peter said quietly.

"How'd you cut your face?" Tony asked, trying to get the teen to talk.

"Don’t worry about it," Peter muttered, sounding like the moody teenager he was.

"Does it hurt?" Tony questioned.

"I think I can handle it," he spat.

Tony sighed. "I think I liked it better when you weren't talking." Peter opened his eyes, but didn't look up from his lap.

"I think you liked it better when I wasn't here," he murmured. 

Tony winced. "I know you don't believe that."

"You don't know what I believe," Peter said, throwing his legs over the armrest of the chair, arm in his lap and placing a hand over his eyes.

"Okay, I know you're pretty wasted but you can lose the attitude whenever you want. I'm just trying to help," Tony said, pushing himself back to sit on the desk.

Peter shrugged.

"Kid, you're going to have to talk about it sometime," Tony said, quietly.

"What's there to talk about?" Peter said, leg twitching anxiously. "It's over; we need to forget about it. It was nobody's fault but my own. I just got in with the wrong kind of people." Tony watched Peter’s leg twitch and could hear his voice threatening to break.

Peter sighed before continuing, "But they're gone now, and that's that. Drama over."

"Kid..." Tony said, heart breaking at the words he spoke.

"I just- I just... It just happened so fast, you know?" Peter said, keeping his hand over his eyes. "Like, they were my friends, I grew up with them, and yeah, sure, I knew they were a bit on the rough side but I didn't think they'd do _that_."

"A bit on the rough side? The paramedics said you were all chock-full of every drug imaginable. Hanging around in an abandoned warehouse with people like that and doing... whatever it is you guys did... is not 'a bit' rough, Pete," Tony said incredulously.

"Yeah, okay, I went a bit crazy, you can't expect me to be this hyperactive little shit with a stick up his ass all the time. I just wanted to let go, just for a little while. I wanted to be away from all this. From Spider-Man. From life." Peter sighed. "From _me_. It's an addiction and it's hard to kick, I'll admit that, I just need you and the others to stop treating me like a fucking child and acting like nothing's wrong when everything so clearly is," Peter said, voice getting angrier and more upset with each word.

"Kid, we're not here to treat you like a child, we're here to help you get through this. You shouldn't be afraid to ask us for help, especially when we're so willing to give it. The team are all here for you, we're not judging you, we know how easy it is to slip into these habits. No one thinks any different of you," Tony said, almost pleading Peter to see reason.

Peter got up from Tony’s chair and stumbled across the room to the small bathroom, to which he leaned over the sink and upchucked another mouthful of vomit, wincing visibly, head down and groaning quietly.

"You okay, kid?" Peter turned to him, arm wrapped around his abdomen.

"I fell..." Tony stood up and crossed the room, quickly putting his arm around him, "What? What do you mean? Where?"

"I-I went down to the- the warehouse, just to see it, I don't know why. And the only way we could ever get in was climb a tree and get in through a broken window. I got in fine but I fell climbing out. M-My ribs. I think I hit them on the way down. And my shoulder. It hurts," Peter said quietly, slumping back into Tony’s chair, returning his hand to its place over his eyes.

"Kid, rib injuries can be pretty serious, you could have damaged a lung, I think I need to call Bruce," Tony said, pulling out his phone to call the doctor.

Peter eyes shot open. "No!" he gasped. "Don't call Bruce. I don't want him!”

"But, Pete I have to. We have to get you checked out."

"No. I can't let him know..." Peter said quietly.

"Let him know what-?" Tony stopped as the realization hit him.

"You weren't alone at the warehouse, were you? Peter, you promised me you'd tell me if you were anywhere near this stuff again. We had a _deal_."

"My head hurts," Peter muttered, before groaning, "Could you turn down the lights, please?" Tony flicked on a lamp in the corner of the room and turned off the overhead lights as he pulled out his phone and dialed Bruce’s number.

"What do you want, Tony, it's 4 am?" Bruce croaked into his phone. 

“It's Peter, I need you to come check him out, I think he's cracked some ribs and by the looks of it he's dislocated his shoulder, and he just- he just seems a little off, he hit his head, he's pretty wasted as well."

Bruce sighed. "Shit, um, yeah, sure, I’ll be there in a few minutes, don't let him fall asleep," he said tiredly, hanging up the phone.

————

“Pete, buddy, you have to stay awake for me. Bruce is gonna check you for a concussion," Tony said softly.

"Peter, I've gotta check you over, c'mon, open your eyes," Bruce said, yawning.

"I don' have a c'cussion..." Peter murmured, arm in his lap and hand over his eyes.

"Peter, we have to get you checked out, just work with us for ten minutes and you can go to sleep, I promise," Bruce bargained.

"M'fine," Peter muttered, "Jus' g'way..." he slurred as he tried to curl away from the people kneeling beside him. Tony and Bruce’s eyes widened simultaneously as they heard the kid gag, wincing as he puked his dinner into his lap.

"Peter, I'm not here to piss around. You can sit here, and go to sleep and there could be a very large chance you won't wake up. Or you can let Bruce check you over and make you feel better. Your choice," Tony said, losing his patience.

"Mmm..." Peter hummed but made no move to get up.

"Tony, he's too far gone, he’s concussed, possible broken ribs and a probable dislocated shoulder. He's not gonna cooperate with us so we're gonna have to get him to the bed ourselves," Bruce said, scratching the back of his hand. "Pick him up on three. One, two..."

————

Tony and Bruce lowered Peter onto the bed to which he bent his legs and threw an arm over his eyes.

"Lights..." he muttered.

"You're gonna have to stick it out, Peter, I can't work in the dark," Bruce muttered, pulling Peter’s mud and vomit stained shirt up and inspecting his ribcage. Tony winced as he saw the deep purple bruises already starting to form. Peter winced and pulled away as Bruce lightly placed his fingers on his lower ribs.

"Okay, Peter, I'm just gonna check your head. I know you don't want to but you're going to have to open your eyes for just a little bit," Bruce said, picking up his doctor's flashlight and flicking it on.

Peter groaned, "No..." he whined, screwing his eyes shut even more.

"Tony?" Bruce said nodding to the man.

Tony sighed and pulled Peter’s functioning arm from above his face and held it down while Bruce held his eye open and shone a light into them, looking for the telltale signs of concussion. Peter whimpered and tried to pull away as Bruce finished up. Tony looked at him questioningly.

Bruce tapped Peter’s cheek, "Peter, stay awake for me, I just need to reset your shoulder and then you can go to sleep, I promise. You have a mild concussion but I'm gonna stay here with you to make sure you're okay," Bruce said loudly into Peter’s ear.

Peter mumbled and tried to pull away from the sound and the sting of Bruce cleaning the gash on his face. Once Bruce had finished disinfecting Peter’s face and tending to his cracked ribs, he tapped his face again and said loudly to get his attention. 

“C'mon, Peter, sit up, we have to get this shoulder fixed." 

Peter groaned again and made no move to sit up. With the help of Tony, Bruce got Peter sitting up and as Tony held him steady, Bruce grabbed Peter’s shoulder and quickly twisted it. Tony eyes squeezed shut as the kid cried out.

Bruce let Peter lie back down for a moment to catch his breath. He took a deep breath. Peter groaned loudly and gagged.

"Shit," Bruce muttered before dragged Peter upwards, picking up a bowl and shoving it under his chin as he retched.

"C'mon, kiddo, there's no need for this," Tony said quietly, "Get it up and you can go to sleep."

Peter groaned as he finished and spat into the dish. Bruce pulled the sheets up and tucked him in, before quickly packing up his things and moving to the next room over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have one more chapter for this if you want me to keep going? Let me know!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What actually happened the night Tony was called to pick up the kid? Peter’s not too sure himself

When Peter Parker began to return to consciousness he immediately regretted it. He knew what would come next. The paranoia, the pain, the overwhelming sense of emptiness.

He wished he could just stay asleep. As he started to get more aware of his surroundings he thought he felt more pain than usual. Then his memories from the last month caught up with him.

He was on a high. Not as good as the ones he'd had before but it was better than being sober.

But then again, anything was better than being sober.

He was lying on one of the old, dirty mattresses that Dean had found.

His arm hurt. He didn't think that needle was clean enough. But he'd never cared before so why should he care now? What's the worst that could happen?

Mr Stark would freak if he saw him like this. He should call Mr Stark. He's been trying to call him, he's wondering where he was. As if he cares, though, he probably just wants him to get his screwdriver or make coffee or something, Peter thought. Fucking intern that's all he is to them.

Peter opened his eyes slowly when he heard the rest of his friends drive into the yards, whooping, laughing and screaming. They were revving up the car, trying to let the people inside know they were here.

They wanted them to go out, and that means they've done it.

"Right, boys, we've done it!" They screamed as the men climbed down from the tree. "We've finally done it! We broke in and there it was, just sitting there in all its purple glory." That's when Peter noticed they weren't driving Kev's car, they we're driving the Saints' truck. Peter couldn't deny the shiver of fear at the thought of what was to come when the Saints find out that they've got their truck.

The Murdock Saints, or Saints, were a group of guys who'd lived across town since as far back as anyone could remember. They weren't exactly a gang but people knew not to mess around when they saw the purple truck come down the street. Once you stayed out of their way, they never bothered you, they'd even been known to help people. But Peter’s friends didn't exactly like to stay out of their way. Peter was never sure exactly what happened to start the feud between the Saints and them, but he knew it was something to do with Nick and the Saints' leader's sister. Peter thought it best to stay out of it.

"Is that such a good idea?" Someone behind Peter said. Jack, maybe? Peter’s sense of recognition wasn't too good when he was high, he'd noticed. "Who gives a fuck?" Someone else shouted. "It's awesome! We have to take it for a lap of honour 'round the estates!"

Peter scratched at the inside of his elbow, picking at the small scabs that had formed where he'd put the needles in wrong.

"But, what happens when the Saints find out that we took it? They'll kill us."

"We'll arm ourselves then," someone shouted, which was greeted by a laugh.

An hour later, everyone was back inside, out of the rain that had started to fall. Peter scratched at his arm once more before he heard a car pull of upside. He froze. He heard shouting and banging outside and watching as some of the guys stood up and hopped up onto the pile of boxes and disappeared out the window. All was quiet until shouting was heard and a loud thud.

Everyone was on their feet within seconds and they hopped out the window to see what was happening outside.

As Peter hopped from the last branch of the tree he caught sight of Nick in a heap on the ground and he didn't seem to be moving. Peter wanted nothing more than to run over to him and make sure he was okay but the sheer number of Saints standing in front of them made him think twice.

Peter can't remember exactly what happened next but he knows that there was a lot of shouting, a lot of swearing and next thing he knew he was on the ground getting a boot to the face. He grabbed the Saint's ankle and pulled, twisted it sharply, only stopping when he heard a crack and a cry from the man.

Peter quickly got to his feet and ran over to where a Saint was wrestling with Dean, gave a single swift kick to his kneecap and grabbed him in a headlock for enough time to Dean get up, dust himself off and kick the Saint in the stomach. Peter let go and Dean quickly grabbed his head and slammed it into the concrete.

People were dropping to the ground left, right and centre as he and Dean ran from one brawl to the next, helping where they could.

Soon, each small fight merged into one big one, revolving solely around the leader of the Saints and Nick. Peter was so mesmerised by the fight that he almost didn't see the flash of silver as it was pulled from a pocket and handed quickly to the leader of the Saints. Peter didn't think twice. He dived and tackled the Saint to the ground, pulling his wrist back until the loud crack was heard and the knife was dropped.

Peter then stood up and kicked the man in the head over and over, the anger in him not ceasing until long after he had stopped moving. Peter stood over the leader of the Saints and froze as he realised what he'd done.

Every man stood staring, wondering who this small, scrawny little shit was and how had he just taken down the leader of the Murdock Saints.

Then sirens were heard. They could see the flashing lights in the distance and everyone quickly panicked and ran. Peter didn't know what to do, he couldn't see a way out of this situation. He looked down to see the knife in his hand, when had he picked that up? He couldn't move with fear.

Then he saw Nick running at him, screaming something. Peter couldn't concentrate on what he was saying. He just saw his lips moving, contorting with each yell.

Peter turned just in time to see that the warehouse was engulfed in flames. One of the Saints must have set it alight. He stood watching the blaze in horror, forgetting about the man at his feet, the knife in his hand and the approaching sirens until Nick collided with him, knocking him to the ground.

Nick pulled the knife from Peter’s fist and punched him in the face.

"What are you doing?!" Peter cried.

"I'm saving your ass!" Nick yelled as he stood above the Saint with the knife in his hand, with a look in his eye that Peter had never seen before. Then he turned around to kick Peter in the face.

Peter can't remember much of what happened next.

————

  
"Hello? You okay? Can you hear us? Come on, wake up..." Peter heard voices echoing through his head. He groaned.

"There we go, come on now, almost there..." Peter groaned once more before letting his eyes flutter open, being greeted by the sight of two paramedics standing over him. Peter turned his head to the side and looked at the chaos. The fire was almost put out, dozens of firemen tending to it; the Saint's leader was being taken away in a body bag, having left a large pool of blood on the ground. Peter turned his head the other way, and caught sight of Nick being taken away in a pair of handcuffs. Peter stared on in shock.

  
Peter dragged his arm up to lightly press his fingers to his newly blackened eye and wincing. The paramedics were still talking to him, and then they grabbed his arms and helped him stand up.Peter stumbled a few steps towards the parked ambulance before leaning over and retching onto the ground, coughing and spluttering. A paramedic patted his back and hauled him upwards when he'd finished. They led him over to a parked ambulance where they sat him down, wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and treated his injuries. Peter’s phone began to ring in his pocket. He pulled it out and let it slip through his fingers, landing on the ground with a soft thud, one of the paramedics picked it up soon after it had rang out, and when he saw that there had been 14 missed calls from his emergency contact, the number Tony used when they thought someone might be in trouble, he called him back and explained what happened.

Peter couldn't concentrate on what was happening around him, he just couldn't get himself to focus, when was the last time he took his Adderall? Next thing he knew, Tony was wrapping his jacket around his shoulders and he was being led towards his car. He'd pleaded with Tony to let them drive around for a bit, not wanting to go back to his quiet apartment just yet.

He woke up 15 hours later.

  
——————

  
"Kid? You awake?" Tony whispered from his spot in the corner of the room. Peter groaned and shushed him, before trying to roll over but wincing as the pain shot through his ribs and shoulder.

"Come on, Pete, I know it hurts but you can't spend the day in bed."

"Yes, I can," Peter muttered into his pillow.

"You think you can get up?" Tony said quietly.

"Can't. Hurts too much," Peter said, voice slightly strained.

“Do you want me to get Bruce?" Tony asked, panicking slightly.

"It doesn't hurt that much," Peter said with a scoff and another wince. Tony sighed.

Peter scratched at the inside of his elbow, but opened his eyes to find it wrapped in a thick, white bandage.

Tony watched him. "It was infected," he said quietly, "the needles you were using weren't clean enough. Bruce spent ages filling you with every antibiotic we have. But he say's you'll be fine now."

Tony wasn't looking at him. Peter recognised it as he was or afraid, or had been afraid, he wasn't quite sure.

"Mr Stark, I- I'm sorry, okay? About everything, I really didn't mean it to get this far. I only went last night just to see the wreck, I had no plans on actually using, but some of the guys were there, and I don't know what came over me..." Peter said, trying to catch Tony’s eye. Tony sighed.

"I know, Pete, I know it's not your fault, and I know you didn't mean for this to happen. I was just... scared; I couldn't bear the thought of losing you."

Peter was at a loss for words.

"I'll let you get back to sleep."

Tony was gone before Peter had the chance to say anything else.

—————

  
Peter sat in Tony’s chair, leg fidgeting and biting his nails. "My ribs hurt!" he called to no one in particular.

"I'd expect so; it's only been a week!" Bruce called back. "You're not being very helpful," Peter said, matter-of-factly.

"There's nothing more I can do for you, Peter, we've patched you up, you're just going to have to deal it," Bruce sighed.

"But I'm _starving_ ," Peter whined.

"No, you're not," Tony stated. "You're just going through withdrawal. That's why you're so restless, and that's why you're so _fucking annoying_."

"Rude," Peter muttered.

"That's what I'm here for," Tony muttered back.

“Can't I, like, do something?" Peter asked, scratching at a scab on his hand.

Clint turned to him. "Like what, kid? What do you want to do?"

Peter stopped. "Well, I don't know..."

Clint huffed. "Exactly, you don't know. Now shut up while I try and get this work done."

Peter made a face and went back to biting his finger nails. He winced as one started to bleed.

"I told you to stop biting it, you fucking idiot," Clint muttered, two minutes later as he was placing a band aid around Peter’s finger.

Peter used his good arm to punch him in the ribs.

——————

  
" _I can't do this_!" Peter screamed, kicking over Tony’s chair. Tony stood behind him, lunch in hand.

"Kid, it's been a month and a half, I know this withdrawal is killing you, but you're so close, we're all here for you," Tony said, placing a hand on Peter’s shoulder.

"Oh, _fuck off_ ," Peter spat, storming out.

“Friday, lock the doors, he's doing a runner again," Tony muttered. Tony watched as Peter made it to the door and found it locked.

“Oh, _for fuck's sake_!" he screamed, making everyone in the loft jump. Peter then turned on his heel and made his way to the roof.

He didn't return for four hours.

——————

  
"Pete, buddy, you've gotta stay awake, I know it's a symptom but you can beat this, I know you can," Tony said, looking at Peter in the rear-view mirror, whose head had been drooping for the past ten minutes.  
  
Peter mumbled something incoherent and let his head fall against the window of the car. Sam pinched Peter’s leg. "C'mon, spider-kid, stay awake, don't give in to it."

Without opening his eyes Peter reached over and gave Sam a dead arm.

"Harsh," Sam muttered, rubbing his arm.

"Peter, you can't keep doing that, we're just trying to help you," Tony said, as if scolding a child.

However something told Tony that he didn't care as his head dropped to Natasha’s shoulder, murmuring incoherently.

——————

  
"Well, it's been over a month since you've shown any signs of withdrawal..." Bruce said. "I think you're over the worst of it," he said, snapping off his medical gloves.

Both Tony and Peter sighed in relief. Peter put his head in his hands and Tony watched as his shoulders shuddered. He tentatively placed his arms around the kid and held him to his chest.

"I can't believe it," Peter said into Tony’s shoulder. "It's finally over."

"Pete, its' okay, buddy, you're fine. We're here, it's over," Tony whispered into his ear. "Its' okay, Peter, you're okay."  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


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